"Throatripper leads the legions of werewolves that serve the Shadow King. If Reonh has not already been turned, she will be in his stronghold." Verity announced as the hunters advanced steadily across the plain to a small, lonely little cropping of trees, "As you can see, there is no way to come upon the fortress of Conrioch with any measure of stealth. The only vulnerable point lies above the fort."

Verity pointed to a high cliff jutting out behind the walled city, at least two hundred feet from the walls themselves. But the reason this weak point was unguarded quickly became apparent. The cliff itself towered perilously high in the air. Far too high to leap from there to the walls. Paul felt his face lose color as he took in the full scope of those jagged cliffs. He had no love for heights.

To Paul's relief, Verity quickly explained that the plan was to have Lariat and a few of the magic-users -- which she called "Wielders" -- mount a bombardment from the cliffs as a distraction. Lariat, apparently, had functional wings inside of those loose sleeves, not simple feathery arms; and the Wielders could use magic to scale the cliff in no time. While they lobbed attacks at the rear walls of Conrioch from the cliff, the rest of the Hunters would enter the main gates. Verity assured them, mostly Paul, he was sure, that she would be able to mask their visual approach. But they would have to depend on the clifftop distraction to keep keen snouts from smelling them.

Concluding her battle plan, the rest of the group nodded and began checking their equipment for readiness. Verity gave Paul a quiet but penetrating look. He knew what she intended with that stare. "Will you commit, or will you try to run?" Paul tipped his chin in a short but firm nod. It's too late to go back now. One way or another she's right. I have to go through to get out.

Nearby, Lariat undid his sword belt and took off his cloak, revealing a muscular torso brimming with grey and white feathers. He shook out his arms in an upward stretch, and when he brought them back down, his winged arms spread broadly in the moonlight. A proud plumage of tailfeathers struck out from behind Lariat as well, and with a short sprint, he hoisted himself into the air. Paul was in awe for a moment. He had never dreamed of seeing something so magnificent and bizarre with his own two eyes. For all of the horror and terror he had experienced in the last couple of hours, the sight of this impossible birdman taking flight briefly took him out of it all.

Lariat lifted high enough to go unnoticed by the fortress guards and after a few moments, Paul saw his distant grey figure gliding to the top of the cliff. After a few silent seconds, a lyrical call that was part whistle part birdsong drifted across the open plain. All clear. Two women and a man, all wearing different colors of ornate robes, whispered the same incantation and sprinted off in the direction of the forest edge where they would begin their climb. They moved with supernatural swiftness and were soon out of sight in the distant line of trees. Verity cast her own spell, and a sudden wind seemed to push through Paul's very being. He saw around him that everyone else appeared to be briefly pushed by the same magical wind.

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"Let us be off," the enchantress called out, her own auburn braids momentarily tossed over her shoulders by the gust that emanated from her hands.

The whole company of adventurers followed as Verity led them out of their tiny copse of trees. Paul kept close on her heels, not wanting to get separated if the plan went south. After a few dozen paces, another musical all-clear call broke the silence of the night.

Closer and closer to the looming grey walls their small procession drew steadily. Paul counted out that there were exactly thirteen of them on the ground, himself and Verity included, and then the four on the bluff. Seventeen in all against an entire fortress. A small fortress, admittedly, but Paul could not help doing the math and seeing the stark difference in numbers. His imagination took over soon, playing out gruesome death after gruesome death. His eyes darted from the growing barrier ahead to the back of Verity's head. Desperately he wished he could voice his fears to her, but he felt that by this point, she would just as likely ignore his protests as answer them with cryptic gibberish.

The sorceress must have heard his panicked breathing because she surprised Paul by softly speaking, "You think we march to certain death. What you must remember is that I would not have brought you here if I did not think I could deliver you safely. But if it soothes your mind at all, just know that if our plan is going to fail, it will do so before we reach the walls. If we succeed in reaching the city walls, we will likely reach our adversary with little resistance."

The words did little to comfort him, but they did distract him from his panic at least. Paul kept forgetting how young Verity was, or at least looked. She spoke like a character out of a classic work of fantasy. Her words were more at home coming from an aged wizard than a young girl who appeared no older than him. Who was this girl, and what did she want with him? He puzzled over what her purpose could be to place a struggling college student into the middle of this nonsense world that felt ripped from the pages of countless works of fiction.

Abruptly, Paul's musings were cut off as Verity brought the column to a halt still a hundred or so feet from the main gates of Conrioch. None of the eerie sentries atop the wall sounded an alert at their approach. But Paul knew that if the four on the cliff-top didn't begin their bombardment soon, the fiends inside the fortress would sniff them out. He attempted to control his increasing heart rate and the panic it signaled by breathing deeply and slowly, feeling the moments pass heavily.

Then the sounds of explosions and thunder rocked the grassland. Wordlessly, Verity charged the gates, not pausing to signal the group. The monster hunters around him needed no more signal than that and charged after her. Paul was nearly knocked over before his own feet found their bearing, and he joined the dash towards the tall, wooden gates. One way or another, the most exhilarating and terrifying night of his life was about to come to an end. He repeated Verity's fatalistic words to himself like a mantra, The only way out is through.